


Perudo

by Kuukkeli



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Gross fluff in the end, M/M, MTMTE, Oral Sex, PWP-ish, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot-ish, Robots playing games, Spoiler Scritches, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/pseuds/Kuukkeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><em>Perudo</em> is a dice game originated from the Inca Empire (or so the historians believe.) As soon as I learned the name, I wanted to include it into Transformers. And this is the result.</p><p>The rules to <em>perudo</em> are <a href="http://www.perudo.com/perudo-rules.html">here</a>. Have fun learning them.</p><p>And since there aren't that much Rodimus x Drift fics here, I decided to make my effort.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Perudo

**Author's Note:**

> _Perudo_ is a dice game originated from the Inca Empire (or so the historians believe.) As soon as I learned the name, I wanted to include it into Transformers. And this is the result.
> 
> The rules to _perudo_ are [here](http://www.perudo.com/perudo-rules.html). Have fun learning them.
> 
> And since there aren't that much Rodimus x Drift fics here, I decided to make my effort.

“Dudo!” shouted Getaway, chuckling and pointing at Trailcutter.

“What?! No way!” the black mech protested.

“Come on, Trailcutter. Let’s see those dice”, Skids smiled at his larger friend. Trailcutter reluctantly lifted his cup as did the rest of the players. The bulky mech had bid ten fours and there were _twelve_ fours on the table. The mechs around the table made a bellowing “OUGH!” as the dice were revealed.

“Give up one dice”, Skids said to Trailcutter who placed one dice on the middle of the table. There was a good amount of dice there already and that was only the fifth round of perudo.

“Okay, gentlemechs. Collect your dice and prepare for the sixth round”, the blue mech announced.

Drift walked in Swerve’s to see a large crowd gathered around one table. Shrugging, he strode straight to Swerve. “Hi, Swerve. The usual.”

“Coming right up, Drifter”, the little mech beamed.

Sitting down on a bar stool, the white mech followed the crowd. “What are they playing?”

“Game called perudo. It’s a dice game from Earth. That’s pretty much all I know. The rules were so complicated I didn’t bother to listen”, Swerve babbled as he returned to Drift with his drink.

“Huh... I see.”

Then he heard his name being shouted from the crowd.

“Drift! Ya wanna play a round or two?” Rodimus waved from the other side of the table he was sitting at, “Here’s one seat vacant and it’d be nice to have you in.”

The swords mech hesitated. “I... I don’t know. I came here to just have a moment of peace and-”

“Pssh, to pit with ‘a moment of peace’! You’ve been so isolated recently it’s time for you to let loose”, the orange mech kissed off the other’s words and pulled a chair closer to the table, right next to him.

‘Well, I guess one round wouldn’t hurt...’

With that, he grabbed his drink, thanked Swerve and sat down on the chair Rodimus had offered him.

“Yo, Skids. Give Drift his dice and a cup. Ya can observe the game while I tell you the rules. I skip this round, guys.” That didn’t seem to bother his fellow players.

Swerve was right, the rules _were_ complicated.

After observing a whole round and listening to Rodimus, which had proven to be rather difficult for the larger mech tended to ramble, Drift chewed the information he just received.

The round had ended – it hadn’t been that long – in Ambulon losing a die for calling ‘Dudo’ when he doubted Cyclonus had bid too high, nine twos. Turned out, the bid was correct and Ambulon had to place a die in the discard pile.

“Ya think ya got the hang of it?” the captain asked.

“I think so.”

“All right, Drift is in”, Rodimus called so that the table heard.

The six mechs dropped their dice in their cups, rolled them and slammed the cups on the table.

“Ambulon, your call”, Skids said.

The medic took a peek of his dice. You could hear how the gears turned in his head as he tried to think logically what value he’d bid. “Eight sixes.”

“Ten fours”, bid Getaway.

“Ten fives”, was Cyclonus’ bid.

“Eleven twos”, called Trailcutter.

“Thirteen fives.” Rodimus was quite sure about his bid.

Drift took his time to call his bid.

“Dudo.”

And so the cups were lifted and... ten fives. Cyclonus was right. Again.

Rodimus threw his hands in the air, covering his face. “Argh! No! Drift! Why did you do this to me?”

“Don’t be mad at me. It could’ve been any one of us to call it.”

The mechs around him laughed and Atomizer patted him on the shoulder. “Tough luck, cap.” Drift couldn’t hold back his giggles, so he lifted his hand to cover his mouth.

“Okay. Count of dice, everyone.”

Ambulon had four. As well as Getaway. Cyclonus had all five. Drift, too. Rodimus had three and Trailcutter two. If Trailcutter was to lose the next round, he’d become _palifico_. And then the game would take a slightly different turn of events.

“You know what this means, Teebs. If you lose the next round-”

“I know, frag it! I know”, the black mech snapped, his patience growing thin. Damn, how he hated to be on the losing end.

So the game went on and eventually, Trailcutter got dropped out of the game. The forcefield specialist retreated to a corner booth with his drink to sulk. Skids noticed the change of his mood and excused himself to give Trailcutter some company.

“You all right, big guy?” he asked, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

The larger mech merely grunted, his optics keenly exploring the glass in his hands.

“Hey, it’s just a game. Nothing to get mad about”, the blue mech tried to cheer up the other, though he knew Trailcutter was a very competitive personality but... nothing ventured, nothing gained. He then reached across the table to grasp one of black hands into his own, caressing the rough yet smooth surface, circling the rim of forcefield outlet with his middle finger. “Besides, I think there’s a way I can get your mood up again”, he smirked, his optics flicking brighter in flirtation.

Trailcutter lifted his gaze to see the unbelievably yellow optics staring back at him. Skids’ lower lip disappeared in his mouth as he bit down on it, his EM field licking against Trailcutter’s.

Without any more words, the black mech got up, grabbed Skids’ hand and strode out of Swerve’s. Surprisingly enough, no one seemed to wonder or even notice where they went...

\----

The game went on until there was only Drift and Cyclonus left. The swordsmech examined the stoic face in the hopes of catching a hint of doubt or despair. They had agreed that this round was ‘all or nothing’: the one who says ‘Dudo’, and is wrong, loses.

“Your call, Cyclonus. Bid.”

The purple mech narrowed his optics. “Eight fours.”

Drift peeked his dice and placed the cup back on. “Eight fives.”

He could see a tiny, almost imperceptible, twitch right under Cyclonus’ right optic. He barely fought the victorious grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Eight sixes.”

“Dudo.”

The crowd around them fell silent. The two mechs stared each other in the optics as they lifted the cups. Rodimus counted if there were eight sixes. Neither Drift nor Cyclonus broke the optic contact.

“Eight sixes.”

Drift shook Cyclonus’ hand and congratulated him for the good game. The larger mech said nothing and downed his drink, leaving the bar for his hab suite to recharge and so did the others. Drift sipped the last drops of his high grade, thanking Swerve who waved good night.

“You could’ve won”, the orange mech said as he and Drift were walking down the corridor towards their own hab suites. The lithe mech smiled. “Yes. But then again, Cyclonus wouldn’t hear the end of Whirl’s torture of being a loser. I just thought it’d be fare for him to win – after all, think about his position here; he’s not the most popular mech around here.”

His smile faded as he recalled his own situation; there were mechs that were wary and preferred to avoid him. Venting a short huff, the grin returned. “I guess I’m on the same page with him...”

Suddenly, Rodimus closed the white mech into an embrace. “No, you’re not”, he murmured against the shoulder, filling his EM field with comfort. “You’re more than that.”

Drift wrapped his arms around Rodimus’ waist, tightening the embrace. “Thanks.”

With one fluid motion, the taller mech brushed his lips ever so faintly against Drift’s, the touch only a fleeing promise of a kiss. Planting another chaste kiss on the lips, Rodimus whispered the other’s name, earning a shiver from Drift.

The swordsmech deepened the kiss, wanting more of Rodimus, needing him, desiring for more. “You know”, he breathed after breaking the kiss, lust steadily visible in his optics, “Even though we lost the game, you still won a prize.”

The orange mech quirked his optical ridge at that. “Oh? And what my prize could be?”

A seductive smile crept on Drift’s face. “Take a guess.”

Rodimus gave a laugh, locking their lips again, pushing the white mech against the wall. Hands began to roam over plating, searching for seams to dip in, wires to pinch and tweak. Drift gasped as the talented yellow hands found a sweet spot on the small of his back, right above his hips, causing him to buck to the touch. “W-wait, Rod. Not here”, he pleaded, his hands resting on the bright yellow chest. He took Rodimus’ hand and gestured him to follow.

Drift was sure the walk to his hab suite took longer than normal, his core temperature rising and the pleasant tingling sensation in his belly spreading all over his sensornet not helping the issue at all – and with the hand on his hip and the lips nipping at his head fin... Punching the code to the console to open the door, Drift spun around once the door whooshed open and pulled the other mech in, capturing him into another heated dance of tongues. “Want you”, he moaned between the kisses.

He backed up until his thighs bumped against the edge of his desk, hopping on it with no effort, spreading his thighs for Rodimus to fit between them, wrapping his legs around the orange waist thus pulling him closer. His hand snaked down his own chest, over his abdomen and down to his pelvic plating, ending up on his interface panel. Palming at the hot metal, he kept his optics on Rodimus’, though the other’s gaze was locked on the hand kneading the panel.

The panel opened with a barely audible click, revealing the plush lips and the small trail of lubricant that trickled out. Drift’s fingers traced the lips before two of them disappeared past the rubber appendages, making a wet sound as they were swallowed by the valve.

“Frag, Drift...” Rodimus managed to growl, to see his partner fingering himself in front of him was almost too much to him, feeling his spike throb in interest.

Moaning in response, the swordsmech pushed the fingers deeper until they were knuckle-deep, swirling around, curling them, stroking the nodes within. The fingers were pulled out only to rub the anterior node at the top of the valve, the node swelling under the stimulation.

Rodimus sealed their lips into a short battle before lowering his head to grace his teeth against the neck, nibbling and licking the cables. Drift groaned, his fingers massaging the node harder, lubricant gushing out. The orange mech knelt down, swatting away the hand already there. “My turn”, he rumbled, his voice husky and full of pent up lust.

He ran his tongue between the lips, feeling the calibers inside trying to draw it deeper. “Nnh... Please, Rod~” the mech above him moaned, bucking his hips forward, his legs hanging over his captain’s shoulders as they pulled the mech closer.

Grinning against the lips, the captain mouthed the opening, suckling at the lips, eating the other out with devotion. He shoved his tongue as deep as he could, earning a loud gasp and a rush of warm lubricant, lapping the fluid, his engine purring softly. He then flicked his tongue over the anterior node, again and again, driving the swordsmech mad with the sensation that shot up from his interface array.

Drift rested his weight on his arms as he leaned back, tipping his head back, a growly moan tearing through his vocalizer. His optics rolled back, almost into his head, mewls of pure ecstasy turning into loud, hoarse whimpers as the node was probed mercilessly. “I-if you keep... keep doing that, I’ll-ah-I’ll... I’ll...” he babbled, unable to finish his sentence until a surge of pleasure ripped across him, a strained scream escaping him as the final wave of lubricants flowed down Rodimus’ chin, the mech catching the flood with his tongue.

The white mech slumped on his back, his vents trying to cycle cool air through his systems as much as possible, his optics never leaving Rodimus’ as he got on his feet again, sucking the remaining fluids from his fingers.

“I think you’re ready, huh?” he chuckled as he lifted Drift’s right leg, hoisting the shin to rest on his shoulder and wrapping the other leg around his waist. “At least you’re all prepped and wet.”

The change of position made Drift to shift on his side a little, his weight now supported mostly by his forearm and left hip.

The orange mech released his spike, glistening with pre-fluids, aching to be sunk into the embrace of that velvety port. Giving the spike a couple of lazy strokes to properly slick it, Rodimus nosed the valve with the tip as in testing if it’d fit, if the valve would accept it. But Drift was having none of that and moved his left leg that was hooked behind the orange waist, sinking the tip past the lips. “Get in there”, he hissed, feeling his opening being stretched ever so nicely.

Rodimus smirked and pushed all the way in to the hilt, shuddering as his spike was enveloped by the heat and snugness, the mech beneath him echoing his reaction. He ground the base rim of his spike against the valve before pulling almost completely out to slam back in.

Their EM fields entwined together, filling, completing each other, increasing the density of the shared emotions into something beyond their imaginations.

Rocking his hips steadily, the captain made sure Drift was soon charged up again, wailing and moaning and begging. And being so aroused himself, Rodimus doubted he’d last long, either, his thrusts becoming more faster and somewhat erratic.

Drift rubbed the panel hiding his spike, the hatch sliding aside and the cover spiraling open, freeing his jutting, throbbing spike. His fingers looped around the shaft, drawing up and then going down, squeezing along the way. He tried to match his pumping to Rodimus’ thrusting but it was harder than he thought; the spike slid and brushed over the nodes, stimulating them more and more than before.

“R-Rod... Oh, my Primus...!” he cried out. He was _so close_ – the release _right there within his reach_!

Arching his back, Drift uttered a shameless scream as the overload burst through him, his valve clamping around the spike, the member jumping against the walls. Rodimus gave a few final thrusts before finishing inside his TIC, transfluids erupting from the spike, coating the rippling and quivering walls.

Drift’s left leg fell limply over the edge of the desk, causing some uncomfortable strain to his hip joint. Rodimus saw this and adjusted the other so his both legs dangled towards the floor, thigh against thigh.

The swordsmech pulled himself to sit up, a satisfied purr vibrating his body. “Liked your prize, loser?” he teased, his lips hovering over Rodimus’, sending tiny jolts of distant, quiet urge through their sensornets.

Rodimus smiled, stealing quick kisses from the other, his hands wandering on the luscious thighs. “Mmh, very much”, he hummed. “We should get cleaned, don’t ya think?” he added, making a move to leave for the wash racks but was stopped by two arms capturing him behind his neck.

“Do we have to?” The way Drift said it was... utterly adorable – like a puppy who didn’t want to take a bath.

“Yes. That’s an order”, Rodimus murmured against the neck, inhaling the scent Drift was emitting; musky, sweet, heady, spent. Hearing the white mech whine at that, he groped the pert aft. “Come on, squeaky toy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Drift followed Rodimus to the wash rack, the other cranking the faucet, the warm cleanser raining down on them.

Once clean and dried, they made their way to the berth. Drift sat down, his back against the end of the berth, patting the space between his legs for the other to sit there. The orange mech smiled at that and crawled where Drift wanted him, resting on the warm body, back against chest.

Drift’s hands rose to the spoiler wings, palms pressed to the metal, fingers tracing the seams and edges. A content, lazy rev of Rodimus’ engine made it clear; he liked – no, _loved_ – his spoiler wings being touched.

The wings fluttered and twitched under the touch, slowly starting to droop as the tension ebbed away.

Drift planted a light kiss on his shoulder, the space between the shoulder and neck and finally on the neck, his lips lingering longer there.

Rodimus’ optics slipped closed, letting himself to be swallowed by the sensations, his body relaxing.

“Love you”, the white mech whispered to his audio.

“Love you, too,” was the reply, lips exploring one another.


End file.
